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‘If I spin a web of words, would you be willing to lose yourself in it’
31st
May 2012
And as
it so happens when you are dreading something, time passes all the more quickly,
the next week went by in a blink of an eye. The appointed day arrived and Mukti
wished that something would happen and the meeting would be postponed. She held
the Ganesha locket in her hand.
God, you know I tried everything… I cleaned up
my Feng Shui,
I took a break, I even read Kinsella and Weisberger for
inspiration, I wrote a blog post, I snooped around on Facebook . . . But, still
I have got nothing to show Mr. Editor.
She was
glaring at the phone so hard willing it to ring and bring some good news.
I can’t
believe I am hoping that the meeting with an actual publisher will get
postponed. I can’t believe I have screwed my chance! God, this is so not fair!!
Tired
with thinking, she picked up the newspaper to divert her mind from her
impending fate.
“NDA has
called for a Bharat Bandh because of the petrol price hike!” Mukti kept on
reading with growing anticipation, “maybe the meeting will be postponed. It
says here almost 50,000 autos and around 15,000 taxis would be joining the
Bandh and NDA has even threatened to block some intersections.”
Main
pareshaan,
pareshaan, pareshaan, pareshaan . . . Aatishein woh kahaan . . .
That was
her phone’s ring tone... describing her mood of the day!
Could it be . . . ?
She
looked at the screen flashing an unknown number and willing herself not to have
high hopes, answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hi . .
. is this Mukti?” asked the voice.
“Yes,
this is she,” she replied, “May I know who am I speaking with?”
“Hi,
Mukti. I am Prakash. We are supposed to meet today?” then added pointlessly, “I
am the editor from Mehta, Kumar and Roy publishing.”
That sounds like a law firm!
“Oh. Hi.
How are you?”
“I am
good. Listen, I am running a little late. I hope you have not already reached.
Can we postpone the meeting . . .”
Yes!! Yes!! Let us postpone it for next week!
“. . .
To four pm instead of two. I hope that is fine?” asked Prakash, “After that I
am quite busy and won’t be able to take time out.”
Bloody bloomers!
“But,
isn’t today the strike? I was reading in the newspapers that today is Bharat
Bandh?” she asked hopefully.
“Oh, is
it? Maybe that’s why there are so many diversions and jams. But other than that
it is fine. Do you have a problem coming down?”
“No, not
at all.” She added hastily, “So, I will see you at four pm at your office?”
“Can you
come to Connaught Place instead? I am going out for a meeting there so I would
catch up with you in CP only. There is a Barista in the outer circle. I’ll meet
you there. Alright?”
“Yup,
sure. Bye,” and she hung up.
Mukti
looked up and said, “Dear God, when I said postpone, I meant by days and not by
hours. I guess I had to be more specific!”
She
looked at the formal trouser she had picked out for today’s meeting but decided
against it. She took out her regular pair of denims and matched it with a crisp
white shirt. She strapped on her watch, brushed her hair and tied them up
loosely. She applied her trademark kohl and nude gloss. Another look in the
mirror and she was ready. She picked up her smartest bag – Gucci, a gift from
his brother on rakhi.
I am 27
and all the nice things I own are gifts! How humiliating is that?!
She
stuffed her manuscript inside the bag. She posed in front of the mirror
twirling this way and that. She caressed the bag lovingly.
She was
just about to leave when she hesitated as if remembering something. She went up
to her dresser and rummaged about in the back and finally extracted her arm
which contained a single black manila
folder. She stuffed it into her bag as well and left closing the door behind
her. She walked till the main road to get a mode of transport. It was the peak
of summers and the sun was shining in all its glory. She carried a scarf with
which she covered her head. She put on a pair of shades and started walking
briskly looking down at the road. She decided to splurge a little and go for an
auto instead of a bus. Mukti waited for almost half an hour, tapping her feet
impatiently all the while, to get an auto. The usual haggling session followed
and it took her another ten minutes before she was seated comfortably inside.
She took off her scarf and plugged in her earphones. After taking numerous auto
and cab rides, she had come to the conclusion that earphones not only helped in
fighting boredom during long rides but also discouraged some of the talkative
drivers from indulging her in meaningless conversations. She wasn’t listening
to music though. She was thinking about the meeting. She was dreading meeting
Prakash. She didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t have any plausible excuse
rather than the truth that she was going through a writer’s block.
He might understand. He is in the publishing
industry. It is completely natural for writers to suffer from writer’s block. He
has to understand if he is a professional. He has to give me another
appointment. She kept muttering to herself.
“He will
understand,” she realized too late that she had started talking to herself and
the auto driver was looking at her from the rear-view mirror with a confused
expression on his face.
“Can you
look at the road?” She said pointedly and curled her fingers around the bottle
of her pepper spray inside her bag. He just shrugged his shoulders and looked
straight ahead.
“He
would reschedule. It will be fine.”
She
tried to calm herself down. She looked out of the window and saw the world
passing by in a blur. The cab had to take a few detours but nothing drastic.
She finally reached Connaught Place, the heart of Delhi. Mukti loved coming
here.
You can find almost anything. From expensive
brands to roadside shack shopping in nearby Janpath . . . From high-profile
lounges to the delicious Dilli chaat . . . It has everything. You should just
know where to look.
She
spotted the Barista and gestured the driver to stop. As she got out of the cab,
she flinched trying to adjust to the loud sounds of the place, the honking
cars, the whirring of traffic, the booming calls of the hawkers selling their
wares on the pavement, the shuffling of feet, the chatter of people. She winced
a little as she paid the driver almost twice the usual fare.
Damn these bandhs!
She
walked towards the entrance, stopping to look at the books spread out on the
floor being sold for a pittance . . . A common sight in CP. She walked ahead
resolutely.
I have already stretched my budget by splurging
on the stupid auto.
Mukti
pulled at the glass door that opened with a small ting of the bell attached to
it and entered the cool environs of the cafe. A soothing instrumental jazz
piece was playing in the background. She was familiar with the place. She had
come here a couple of times with some friends. She looked around and spotted
that her favorite table by the glass doors was empty. She liked sitting there
as it offered her a nice view of both the inside and the outside. She could
look at people walk by and at those who were seated inside. She was a little
ashamed to admit it, even to herself, but she liked eavesdropping . . . getting
a glimpse into a stranger’s life. That was also one of the reasons why she
loved Facebook so much. She could snoop around and see who was doing what, who
was dating whom, who was working where and all that. She was not proud of it but she was addicted
to knowing what is happening in other’s life. It gave her a diversion from not
looking at her own and seeing the missing links or figuring out what was wrong
with it.
Maybe Priya is right? I am addicted. Well, never
mind that now.
Since it
was a workday, there were not many people inside the coffee shop. A woman
immaculately dressed with manicured hands was on her phone, talking animatedly
and almost seemed like she was fighting with someone. There was a group of men
dressed in formals that were eating sandwiches and laughing loudly with a
casual arrogance of the self-crowned cool-dude achievers. She saw a teen couple
sat close together and murmur sweet nothings into each other. A man with
unkempt curly hair and a cigarette dangling limply from his lips was bent down
over a laptop, typing furiously.
A waiter
came to take her order, “Oh, I am waiting for someone. Can you come back a
little later?” She asked politely. He went away without saying anything. She
turned and looked outside. It was almost four in the afternoon but the road was
filled with innumerable cars and buses each with the ubiquitous ‘Delhi Dent’
that all cars in the capital seemed to be branded with. The pavement was full
of people hurrying along without stopping, just like an army of ants… Each
aware of their self-importance. Nobody said anything, nobody stopped to look at
each other, and nobody smiled. Everyone just walked on ahead determinedly.
Everyone seems to be in such a hurry. People
have forgotten how to enjoy life. It’s such a beautiful day. All wasted. Just
to make a decadent living, people are forgetting about the really important
things in life. Ooh that is good, I should write it down.
She took
out her diary and pen, and wrote it down. She again glanced outside. This time
she could see a small girl dressed in a torn and faded lehenga-choli asking for
alms from a man seated in a BMW that had stopped at the signal. He rolled down
his windows and gestured at the girl, rather rudely, to go away as he didn’t
have any money. The girl said something to him, made a face and ran off. Mukti
couldn’t hear anything but she knew what obscenities the girl might have
uttered. She felt deeply sorry for the little girl who was shouting out
swear-words when she should have been reciting poems, studying, going to school. . .As if on cue, a couple in their
early teens wearing school uniform walked in hand-in-hand. They sat at a
far-away corner and Mukti definitely saw the guy slip his hand under the girl’s
skirt.
Well, that never happened when we went to
school!
She
wondered why the editor had asked for a meeting at a coffee shop. She knew that
many corporate and agencies that dealt with creativity preferred coffee shops
instead of dreary cubicles. But, she was hoping that it would be all
business-like. She didn’t usually wear it but for this meeting she had got her
formal trousers and shirt all laid out neatly on the bed. Now because of the
change of venue, she thought a business outfit would be too much and decided to
go informally formal.
She
looked at her watch. It was five minutes past four.
Someone is late.
Mukti
sighed and looked back at the traffic outside when she saw a good looking guy
walking towards the café. He was also wearing faded blue jeans with a white
shirt and had rolled up his sleeves. He had a laptop bag with him. He wore
glasses that added to his good looks. As he opened the glass door, a gust of
warm air entered the cafe with him. The time it took for the door to close, the
soft jazz music of the café (which in itself was a relief from the ditzy
nightclub like thumping beats playing everywhere else during the day) was replaced
with cars honking and the shrill yells of the vendors trying to make a sale.
The door closed and the comforting jazz music took over. Mukti’s eyes followed
the man discreetly as he came inside and looked around. He suddenly turned back
and looked straight at Mukti.
Oh shit!
She
immediately averted her gaze and pretended to be engrossed in what she was
writing in her diary. The guy came up to her and asked, “Excuse me? Are you
Mukti?”
Mukti
looked up and saw him smiling politely.
He has a dimple! Strike one!
“Mukti?”
he asked again.
“Yes!” She
replied realizing that he is talking to her, “yes, I am Mukti.”
His face
broke into a big smile, “Hi, I am Prakash. We spoke on the phone,” he said
extending his hand.
Oh Fuck! Why did he have to be so good-looking!
“Hi,
nice to meet you.” Mukti said shaking his hand and smiling.
“Sit,
sit.”
He sat
down and took off his laptop bag. He ran a hand through his hair and called for the waiter. Mukti
stared at him like a love struck puppy.
“It is
really hot today, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,”
she said dreamily.
Oh God I sound like one of these teenagers. Get
a hold on yourself, Mukti!
She sat
up straighter. After ordering a cappuccino for himself and a lemon iced tea for
Mukti, Prakash came down to business.
“So, Arti
told me that you are an up and coming writer.”
Will you just stop smiling so that I can
concentrate.
Mukti
noted that he had perfect white teeth. When Prakash cleared his throat, Mukti
realized that he had asked a question. She also noticed that she had bent her
face sideways and was looking at him dreamily again. She snapped into
attention, straightened her neck and picked up the glass of iced tea that the
waiter was offering. She took a sip and answered, “Oh I don’t know about that.
I am sure she is exaggerating.”
And when you will read what I have got, you
will think that too!
“I hope
not. Anyway, before I read what you have written. Why don’t you tell me what
the novel is all about.”
Great!
“Uh . .
. sure. Well, I am writing a romantic… thriller,” she said making it up as she
went along.
“Hmm . .
.. Please go on.”
“It’s about a girl who goes to a . . . uh . .
. small town for a break and there something happens with her that shakes her
up. Uh . . . then she comes back, and she is very scared to tell anyone what
happened to her. Uh . . . then,” she stopped and decided to try the truth for a
change, “actually I am a little stuck after that. But I would work something
out. I promise.”
“What is
that something that happens to her there?” he sipped his cappuccino.
“Uh . .
. I am not too sure, but I will figure that out too . . . soon.”
You sound like such a dimwit!!
Prakash
smiled again but this time it was a sarcastic one,
“Mukti, if you are not prepared for the
meeting, you should have told me. I don’t like to waste my time. I only agreed
for this as a favor to a very dear friend of mine who assured me that you are a
very talented writer. I hope you know that this meeting is not the norm.
Generally, writers just send in their manuscripts to the office.”
“I know
everything,” She bent down and got out the black manila folder from her bag.
She put it on the table.
“What is
this?”
“This is
a file with all my rejection letters.”
“You
think it’s a good idea to show a potential publisher that you have been
rejected so many times before?”
“This is
my rejection file,” Mukti continued on as if she hadn’t listened to Prakash, “I
have eighteen rejection letters in total. All in the last one year since the
time I have actively started writing. And these eighteen letters and emails are
the people who were kind enough to respond. Most of the publishers just send an
auto-reply that says they have received my manuscript and they would get back.
But, they never do. I am sure you know that.”
Prakash didn’t
say anything. He just stared back at her.
“Nobody
even wanted to publish my short story in an anthology. So, can you imagine my
excitement when Priya, my friend, tells me that she can arrange a meeting with
an actual publisher? What range of emotions I might have gone through? I was
both scared and thrilled at the prospect. I know editors don’t meet wannabe
writers. I know you must have million other important things to take care off.
But, this meeting was my
one-in-a-million chance and I blew it!”
She
paused to stop herself from crying.
“I am
sorry if I wasted your time. It’s just that I was so anxious that I couldn’t
write. This is my dream and when Priya told me about this opportunity, I got so
excited. I tried to write but I couldn’t. I guess I was so scared of getting
another rejection letter, scared of screwing it up so bad that I actually did,”
she said almost on the verge of tears.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
“I am so
sorry,” she choked back tears, “I have let myself down and disappointed Priya
too . . . and I have wasted your time. I am so sorry.”
“It’s
ok.”
He
handed her couple of tissues.
Mukti
nodded and dried her eyes. When she calmed down, Prakash asked her, “If you
don’t mind can I ask you something?”
Mukti
nodded. Prakash picked up the file and flicked through it carelessly, “Why do you
want to be a writer so badly?”
Mukti
thought a little, “Ever since I was a little girl I have always been fascinated
with stories. My mom used to recite all these fairy tales to me before bed and
I loved losing myself in those places and situations. I wanted to be the
princess of all those tales.” She smiled a little at the memory. “As I grew
older I realized that all those places in that fairy tale . . . they were not
real, they were make-believe. It was someone’s imagination at work. I guess
that was the first thing that attracted me. . . The power of imagination, the
power of words. The fact that someone has the ability to create a different
reality, an alternate world with just some words strung together. I want to be
able to do the same. I want people to lose themselves in my words. I want them
to disconnect from reality and live, even for a couple of hours, in a world
that I create for them.”
“But you
don’t have any world to create? You have no plot. You don’t have a story to
tell,” he said matter-of-factly. He picked out a page and started reading it,
eyes focused intently and darting across the page.
“I know
I don’t have anything substantial right now. But this writer’s block can’t grip
me forever. I know this is temporary. I know it will go away. All I need is a
chance . . . technically a second chance,” she added hesitatingly and smiled hopefully.
Prakash
looked up at her and smiled back. He put down the paper on the table, finished
his coffee and looked at his watch.
“Okay
fine. I will give you a second chance and I will forgive you for wasting my
time but only on one condition. That next time you buy me a coffee.”
“What?”
Mukti was taken aback at the implication “Is it even allowed?!”
Is it allowed?!I should have been angry!
Outraged! This guy just made an indecent proposal! But he is so good looking.
Gorgeous. Just look at those dimples.
He
laughed. “Let me make one thing clear I am asking you on a date, like a
gentleman. I am not propositioning you to sleep with me neither am I proposing
that if you go out with me, I will publish your book. I am just saying that you
take some time, like a fortnight and work on your ideas. Till then, if you
like, we can go out and you can use me as a sounding board. What do you think?”
Yes!! Yes!! Yes!!
“Uh . .
. I don’t know . . .” Mukti shrugged her shoulders.
Never let a guy know that you are interested in
him. You lose all importance in his eyes. Guys like a little chase.
“Ok. You
think about it. I have to rush, I have another meeting. You have my number.
Call me when you decide whether you want to fix up an appointment or an
appointment plus a date. Take care,” He paid the bill and left . . . smiling.
Mukti
looked at his retreating back and then at the page he had left on the table. It
was kind of an 'autobiographical short' she had written for a magazine a couple of months back when she was trying to
convince everyone around her as well as herself why was she doing what she was doing – living alone, always
broke, participating in every writing contest she could find on the internet in
the hope of getting published… the time when she was still trying to understand
why does she want to write. She had taken inspiration from her own life and projected her thoughts to an unnamed woman. The article was published in a small-time magazine and reaffirmed her faith that she could be a writer one day. However, she didn’t remember putting it in the file. She
read through the page again and looked up.
Well, good job, God… God job! So, he liked the
way I write!
She put
the file back in her bag and left the coffee shop smiling to herself too.
*
Priya
called, just as Mukti was turning the key in the lock of her apartment door.
“So how
was it? What did he say? Tell me everything from the beginning,” she said in
one breath.
“Hold on
. . . hold on. What are you talking about?” Mukti said teasing her.
“Mukti!
You know very well what I am talking about. How was the meeting with that publisher
guy, Prakash right?”
“You
mean Mr. Dreamy? God, Priya he is so handsome! He is so good looking I wanted
to cry just looking at him!”
“Stop irritating
me! Tell me what happened with . . .Mr. Dreamy?” she said with distaste, “did
he like your manuscript?”
“Not
particularly . . .”
“He
didn’t like you work and you are talking about how handsome he is? This is what
I keep telling you about . . .”
“Hold
your horses, woman! I didn’t say he didn’t like my work,” Mukti elaborated the
whole story of how Prakash found one of her abandoned article in her rejection
file.
“That
was quite a co-incidence!”
“I know!
So, he liked my work, and apparently he liked me too. That’s why he asked me
out and gave me an extension!” Mukti told Priya excitedly.
“Will
you go out with him?”
“I don’t
know. Maybe . . . maybe not.” She said smiling to herself.
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